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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640703">To Bring Light Back To Your Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldfishForHire/pseuds/GoldfishForHire'>GoldfishForHire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics), Justice League (2017), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne can't bake, He's very awkward, His best is not very good, Humour, M/M, Sweet, bruce tries to help, but he tries his best, soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldfishForHire/pseuds/GoldfishForHire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after the Justice League is formed in the wake of Steppenwolf's attempted incursion, Superman begins pulling away, becoming isolated and withdrawn. Bruce wants to help, but doesn't know how. He goes to Martha Kent for advice, and an offhand comment leads to a clumsy, though successful, outreach. </p><p>Or, Bruce bakes Clark terrible pie to make him feel better, and Clark finds this very endearing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Bring Light Back To Your Eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on a discussion in the Superbat discord.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce sat in his designated chair and glanced around the table, regretting just slightly that he wasn't wearing the cowl. They were debriefing from the latest leg of their current mission; retrieving and mapping all known locations of Kryptonite in an effort to estimate where any other locations might be. From there was the possibility of reverse engineering the path the meteorite had taken to find the way to the area of space Krypton used to be in. Bruce hadn't mentioned that part to the others partially because there remained the possibility that Superman already knew it's location, and partially because he might not, and they might yet fail in the attempt. </p><p>They were swiftly approaching a year since the defeat of Steppenwolf. The rush of having turned away such a massive foe had been running high when Superman had declared them a team, had named them. Bruce knew that the idea of remaining a team as they moved forward was one that they had all still been wrestling with then, and it showed as their first couple of months proved to be a series of stops and starts as they put forth, tore down, and reconfigured their dynamic, purpose, approach, rules of conduct, and expectations for future members. Each of them had walked away more than once. But each of them had come back every time, sometimes at the behest of others, sometimes just showing up at the next meeting and daring anyone to comment. No one ever did.</p><p>Slowly, they edged closer to being a true team rather than just an assortment of people. Slowly, jokes about the ‘Super Friends’ seemed just a little less incredulous, though Barry and Diana remained the only ones who seemed to like the name without sarcasm. But recently, though just as slowly, Superman seemed to be slipping further and further away. </p><p>To look at him, he seemed like the same man; confident, genuine, warm. And it wasn’t that he was less confident, though he wasn’t putting forth as many ideas as he had when they started. It wasn’t that he was less genuine, though he didn’t seem to be connecting to the projects and their team as personally as he once did; offering less quips in training and participating less in the banter in the field. It wasn’t that he was less warm, though increasingly he seemed to draw into himself, eyes skittering across the horizon as if looking for a reason to slip away. It was as if there was some growing part of him that seemed more hesitant, that seemed...sad. Bruce averted his gaze back to where Victor was demonstrating their progress using a holographic map before his heart rate could give him away. Known locations lit up green and estimated locations lit up purple. Arthur had remarked on the colours being appropriate for something of interest to Luthor, but Bruce couldn't be sure that his rhyming insult was just happenstance and not the man pointedly not mentioning The Riddler.</p><p>It wasn’t as if Bruce was paying special attention to Superman's changing behaviour or that no one else had noticed. He’d several times overheard Barry complaining to Victor that Superman was harder to reach and he knew that Diana had been sparring more and more often with Arthur since Superman didn’t drop by their headquarters as much; only coming when they had a scheduled meeting or there was an emergency. </p><p>Bruce mentally shook himself and refocused again just as Victor adjourned their meeting. Superman stood up and smiled a goodbye, slipping out as easily as one might expect from someone unbound by gravity. Superman had stopped lingering after meetings a few weeks ago, leaving as quickly as was polite. But he'd also started coming as close to the start of the meetings without being too early. As if he was anxious to be away from somewhere else, but not totally comfortable with being here. Superman didn't run away from things. Did Clark Kent? And if so, what?</p><p>"Did we do something?" In a blink, Barry was in front of the door that was closing in Superman's wake.</p><p>"No." Arthur took another bite of his overstuffed sandwich, long hair tied back so it didn't drag across his plate. </p><p>"Should we do something?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>Another blink saw Barry standing next to the larger man."But maybe then he'll stop -"</p><p>"The only thing that needs to stop is that." Arthur pointed at Bruce with his sandwich as he chewed.</p><p>Bruce just stared. "And what, exactly, is it that I'm supposed to stop?"</p><p>"Mooning."</p><p>Bruce frowned. A few weeks after they'd started meeting regularly, Superman had mentioned being unusually free to participate in whatever needed doing since he'd ended up giving an assignment to Lois. There'd been something in his manner that hinted that it might not have been his choice and, wanting to lighten the mood, Diana had complimented him on his thoughtfulness and compassion in providing his lover with an opportunity. And that was how the team found out that Lois and Clark were no longer romantically involved. It had been the only time Bruce had ever witnessed Diana being so wrong footed. Bruce might have been more sympathetic to her than he was, but almost immediately upon learning of the breakup, she had joined forces with Arthur, Victor, and Barry to harass him with obviously unfounded insinuations.</p><p>“You’re clearly mistaken.”</p><p>Arthur snorted. “Don’t make me slam you into another wall.”</p><p>Bruce scowled and stood up. “If you’re done being childish?” He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and swung it on.</p><p>“I’m not the one hiding from the boy I’ve got a crush on.”</p><p>Bruce glared. “I do not <i>hide</i> from anybody.”</p><p>Diana stepped in before the moment could escalate further, placing her hand on Bruce’s shoulder and giving Arthur a warning glance. Arthur held his hands up in mock surrender and Diana turned back to Bruce. “We all know the depths of your feelings, Bruce, whatever you would prefer to call them. If you are unsure how to approach him, perhaps it would be wise to seek advice from those who know him best.”</p><p>Bruce sighed again, put upon. “Thank you, Diana. I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p>He turned to leave and heard the others laughing quietly behind him. Victor’s voice was low enough that he couldn’t tell if he was mocking the situation or just commenting on it, though Bruce had the feeling that it was probably the former. But Bruce remembered months of Victor only speaking when spoken to, and sometimes not even then combined with weeks and weeks of Arthur only engaging in discussions to be disparaging or sarcastic, leaving even more quickly than Superman did now. He remembered Barry being awkward and eager and so painfully, obviously lonely and Diana withdrawing and holding herself apart until she seemed more like the statues she worked with in the museum than a real person. Bruce knew that he hadn’t been any better and probably still wasn’t. But they’d come far enough that while their antics annoyed him sometimes and while they did still disagree and fight far too frequently, he couldn’t bring himself to actually be angry about something that amused them. Even if it was at his expense.</p><p>Bruce ran a hand over his face and got into his car, switching mental tracks. Diana might have had a point after all. He clicked his communicator on. “Do we still have the backdoor into the Daily Planet’s servers?”</p><p>His question was met with a long enough silence that Bruce checked to make sure the device hadn’t malfunctioned. But then Alfred’s voice came through cautiously. “I don’t recall that we ever got around to closing it, sir.”</p><p>“I need you to see if you can find anything to suggest changes in the treatment of Clark Kent by coworkers and/or management in any official or unofficial capacity.”</p><p>Alfred sighed. “I was given to understand that we were trusting Mr. Kent.”</p><p>Bruce frowned. “We are. This is different.”</p><p>“One might argue that breaking and entering into someone’s cyber workspace might convey a message to the contrary.”</p><p>“If we’re already in, it’s hardly breaking and entering. It’s more like digitally overstaying our welcome. One is a crime and the other is just bad manners.” Bruce glanced through the window at the lake. There was a storm gathering. Tonight’s patrol was likely to be long; either because it was going to be slow or because it wasn’t.</p><p>“We would have had to have actually been invited in the first place in order to be overstaying a welcome. Since we were not, breaking and entering is more apt.”</p><p>“Let’s compromise and call it squatting.”</p><p>Alfred muttered a rebuke that Bruce tactfully ignored. “The question remains, sir; if we are trusting Mr. Kent, why do you not simply ask him?”</p><p>“We’re looking into it on his behalf.”</p><p>“Are we?”</p><p>“It was Diana’s idea.”</p><p>“Was it?”</p><p>“I’m getting the impression that you’re doubting me.”</p><p>“Is that so, sir?”</p><p>Bruce huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a passing attempt at a smile. “I’ll be at the house in a few minutes. We’ll finish this then.”</p><p>“I am overjoyed at the prospect.” A click and the line went dead.</p><p>***</p><p>In the end, the inquiry into the Daily Planet was informative, though not exactly helpful. They learned first, that no one seemed to hold any suspicions about Clark Kent’s cover story; that he’d been severely injured and hospitalized and placed in the Intensive Care Unit, but due to an identification error, had been treated as a John Doe while he was officially presumed dead. Then they learned that there had been a few instances when Clark had to be reassigned stories partway through an investigation because of the way he reacted. These seemed to be exclusive to stories related to Luthor or Superman, and, once, to an investigation that turned out to be related to an individual who had been severely assaulted and hospitalized. Clark had several times been offered access to a trauma counselor, but had refused every time. They learned nothing more and Bruce was left with the same questions and more concerns.</p><p>Clark, as far as Bruce knew, trusted two people; Lois Lane and Martha Kent. Lois Lane and the Daily Planet being the dead end that they were was the reason Bruce was where he was: pulling his rental into the driveway of the Kent farm after flying his private plane to a small Kansas airport an hour and a half away. Officially, he was here to check on the bank that Wayne Enterprises bought. Unofficially, he was hoping that Mrs. Kent would actually open the door. Thermal imaging had determined that she was actually in the house, though, rather than somewhere else on the large farm, so he knocked on the door. </p><p>Mrs. Kent came to the door and Bruce winced at the lack of soundproofing and how easily he could follow her progress through the house. She held open the storm door, reading glasses perched on the top of her head as she looked him up and down. “Can I help you?”</p><p>“I hope so, Mrs. Kent.” He hesitated. He’d had a script prepared, but it was lost to him now. He swallowed. “I’m...a friend of your son’s. And I’m here as such. May we speak?”</p><p>He didn’t press while she looked him slowly up and down again. He knew that the beginning to their relationship was less than ideal. And he didn’t know what Clark had told her about their team or about him specifically since they began working together. But he owed her. This and much more besides. </p><p>“Come in, then.” She held the door wider and scanned up the driveway and then across the sky. Checking for danger or reinforcements, Bruce wasn’t sure. He followed her inside and to a small sitting room. There was an open book face down on a couch cushion. She picked it up and took her seat, slipping an envelope in to mark her place in the pages before dropping it softly on the end table beside her. Bruce sat after she did, in the chair across from her.</p><p>“Is Clark alright?”</p><p>Bruce swallowed. “I don’t know, Mrs. Kent.”</p><p>Her eyes snapped to his and she seemed to stop breathing, spine going ramrod straight. Bruce cursed himself for how severe that must have sounded. “I mean, he’s safe. He’s not in any danger, the last time I heard -”</p><p>She sagged forward, one hand clutching the arm rest next to her, and the other pressing at the base of her throat.</p><p>“Mrs. Kent -”</p><p>She held up a hand and he closed his mouth so fast his teeth clacked. She took a deep breath and let it out, looking at him again. “Why did you come here?”</p><p>“I am concerned for your son.”</p><p>“There’s a change.”</p><p>Bruce dropped his gaze to his knees, burning shame roiling inside him. “Mrs. Kent, I can only apologize, but I will always apologize. I -”</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>Bruce looked up, confused. The older woman had her eyes closed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”</p><p>Bruce furrowed his brow. “You have no reason to apologize. You have every reason to be suspicious and untrusting of me.”</p><p>She looked at him again and sighed. “Clark talks about you and he speaks well of you. He’s forgiven you for whatever part you played in what happened. But I don’t know the full story because he won’t tell me. All I know is that my son was murdered by a monster trying to do a good thing, Can you even begin to understand that?”</p><p>Before he could even think of how to answer, the word tore out of him. “Yes.”</p><p>Mrs. Kent blinked. And then her expression changed, but Bruce couldn’t identify it. Couldn’t focus on it. Instead, his gaze migrated over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne.”</p><p>Bruce said nothing. He couldn’t...that wasn’t why he came. He started again. “Mrs. Kent, I am concerned about your son.”</p><p>“Alright. What’s concerning you?”</p><p>“He...seems withdrawn. Or as if he is withdrawing. He does not interact with the team as easily as he once did. He does not share personal experiences the way he did in the beginning. When his relationship with Ms. Lane ended, he was similar, but it seems to have increased with time rather than decreased, so I’m not sure whether there were other antecedents or if something else is going on. Diana spoke with him, but his assurances didn’t seem particularly accurate so I don’t -”</p><p>“Mr. Wayne.” The older woman cut him off with an odd look on her face. “Do you mean to tell me that you came all this way to let me know that my son is <i>sad</i>?”</p><p>Bruce wasn’t sure if she was offended or not. “I...am aware that he speaks with you often. I thought you might know already. You might even know why.”</p><p>Mrs. Kent raised a brow. “What did he say when you asked him?”</p><p>“When I asked him what?”</p><p>Her other eyebrow lifted to join the first. “Mr. Wayne, did you come here to let me know my son was having problems, or did you come here to ask me how to ask <i>him</i> why he might be sad?”</p><p>Bruce grimaced. “Speaking with people is not to my...strength.”</p><p>“Clearly.” But contrary to Alfred who was exasperated with Bruce’s tactics in this instance, Mrs. Kent was amused. She hid a laugh behind her hand. “Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry, but my son is not this complex. He’s an honest and straightforward man. He doesn’t hide his emotions and motivations in any labyrinth you need to fight your way through. Talking to him can be as easy as giving him some pie and sitting him down. Providing, of course, that you yourself are being genuine.”</p><p>“I see.” Bruce thought this over. It seemed to match up with what he knew of the other man. Obviously, Clark still had a pretty significant sense of privacy and likely wouldn’t spill his intimate secrets simply because he was presented with baked goods. But perhaps as a starting point, it would function well. “Does it need to be baked from scratch, or would store bought suffice?”</p><p>She shrugged, still smiling. “When asking for something of someone, it is best to first offer something of yourself.”</p><p>Bruce frowned. “I can’t see how the effect would be ruined if Alfred made it.”</p><p>She didn’t say anything. Eventually Bruce just sighed. “I will take it under advisement. I appreciate you seeing me, Mrs. Kent.”</p><p>She showed him out but stopped him at the door. “I don’t know all the details of what happened between you and Clark before he died. But I do know my son. He’s stubborn as they come and twice as smart. Whatever conflict you two had, you didn’t fool him into it. He was as much a part of it too.”</p><p>Bruce shook his head. “He was fooled. Luthor manipulated him. Manipulated both of us.”</p><p>She cocked his head. “If you were both fooled, then why is it only your fault?”</p><p>“Because I survived. And he didn’t.”</p><p>“And then you brought him back. You saved him.”</p><p>Bruce stared at the floor. “If you break something, you should fix it.”</p><p>“You should. And you did. Sounds like you made it as fair as you could.”</p><p>Bruce pressed his lips together and kept his silence.</p><p>She sighed. “Think on what I said. You might be making it into more than it needs to be. If you want to start with him, then just tell him that. If he says yes; wonderful. If he says no; then that’s unfortunate but still better than where you are now because at least it provides a way forward, right?”</p><p>This was much too intimate for Bruce. He wanted to make his goodbyes and take his leave, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “What kind does he like?”</p><p>Mrs. Kent looked at him, confused, before her mouth curled with mirth. “Apple pie is his favourite. I’ll give you the recipe if you promise to keep the secret.”</p><p>“I will keep your recipe safe, Mrs. Kent.” He assured her immediately. </p><p>Her smile broadened and she bustled back into the kitchen, pulling an old book down from a cabinet and then rummaging in the drawer from some paper, before copying it out. She brought it back to him. “Now, I’m sure you can get the ingredients easy enough. But keep in mind that this recipe is for a ten inch pie, not an eight inch, so make sure you grab the right pie dishes. Other than that it’s a pretty simple mix. Don’t worry about any fancy designs or anything.”</p><p>He looked at her blankly, but nodded. She grinned as she waved him off.</p><p>***</p><p>The next couple of weeks saw Bruce in the kitchen several times trying to get the recipe right. Alfred offered to help, but Bruce wanted to do it on his own. Several charred husks later, and he thought that he had a passable pie to offer.</p><p>That week’s meeting found Superman alternately attentive and participating and silent and withdrawn. Bruce tried to figure out if there was a pattern to it, if there was something they might be doing wrong, but couldn’t identify it. </p><p>Diana adjourned the meeting, and Superman started to sweep out the door as usual.</p><p>“Superman.” Bruce stood and then abruptly realized he had no idea how to segue to the pie. Did he just offer it? Should he preface it with something? Was this actually an inappropriate time to give Superman the pie? Should he offer it to the whole team even though he only wanted to speak with Clark? Was he supposed to eat the pie too, or would it not be weird to just sit there while Clark ate an entire pie? Should he give him the whole pie or just a slice? Why had Mrs. Kent not fully explained the proper protocol?</p><p>“Batman? Did you need something?” Superman was looking confused.</p><p>“I...have something for you.”</p><p>Barry had his back to Superman and pointed to his groin and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Bruce glared at him before he looked back at Superman and gestured. “It’s in the kitchen.”</p><p>Abruptly, Barry, Arthur, Diana, and Victor all stood and cleared out of the room leaving only himself and Superman.</p><p>Bruce was a little concerned that that would come back to bite him, but Superman only looked a little bewildered and amused. They walked to the kitchen, Bruce staring straight ahead and Superman darting glances at him.</p><p>“My mother said you went to see her a little while ago.”</p><p>Bruce nodded. “Yes. I had to check in with the bank, and I talked with her awhile. Did she say what we spoke about?”</p><p>“She didn’t mention.” A teasing look was sent his way. “Are you and she plotting against me or something?”</p><p>Bruce snorted. “Of course not. Superman -”</p><p>“Clark.”</p><p>Bruce glanced over. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>“We’re not in the field, even if we are in uniform. My friends call me Clark.”</p><p>“Are we friends?”</p><p>Clark smiled at him. “I’d like for us to be friendly.”</p><p>In another context, that might be suggestive enough for Brucie Wayne to say. Bruce frowned and eyed the other man. Was Clark making fun of him? But no, he didn’t seem the type.</p><p>“Alright, Clark. Call me Bruce, then.”</p><p>Clark’s smile widened. “I will. Bruce.”</p><p>The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched into half a smile and he led the way into the kitchen. “Your mother said you like apple pie.”</p><p>Clark cocked his head. “I do. It’s my favourite.”</p><p>“There was something I wanted to talk to you about, and she suggested pie as a way to broach the topic.”</p><p>Clark looked a little startled at that, but it made him laugh, too. “Well, I’ll never turn down pie.”</p><p>Bruce went to the carrying container on the counter and Clark grabbed plates, forks, and a knife from the cupboard and drawers and brought them to the small kitchen table. Thankfully the younger man seemed to know the protocol here.</p><p>Bruce brought the pie over to the table. “Your mother lent me the recipe.” He took the knife and cut two pieces, putting one in front of Clark.</p><p>Clark grabbed his fork, inhaled, and paused. “Is this...I’m sorry Bruce, but did you say that this was an apple pie?”</p><p>Bruce reached for his fork. “Yes.”</p><p>Clark was studying the slice in front of him. “I apologize for being rude, but did you...use apples in this pie?”</p><p>Oh. “Well, no.”</p><p>“You didn’t use apples in this apple pie.”</p><p>Bruce studied the pie. “No. The grocery store only had bruised and soft apples, and I didn’t want to be rude and use subpar fruit in the pie I made for you. So I used mangoes instead since they’re both sweet fruits.”</p><p>Clark huffed a laugh. “Bruce, ugly fruit is exactly the fruit you use in pies and preserves. Did you modify the recipe at all?”</p><p>Bruce frowned. “Of course not. I wouldn’t disrespect your mother like that.”</p><p>“So it’s just an apple pie recipe with mangoes instead of apples?” </p><p>“Are the apples very important?”</p><p>“Are the apples important to an apple pie?”</p><p>“I thought that that was just what people called this type of pie.”</p><p>“It’s what people call pies with apples in them.”</p><p>“Oh. My apologies.”</p><p>Clark hid a smile behind his hand and then took a bite. He held his jaw rigidly for a second, eyes bulging slightly, then seemed to chew entirely on the side of his mouth. “Are you sure it’s the same?” He choked out.</p><p>Bruce shifted slightly. “I ended up having to make some slight alterations due to circumstances outside my control.”</p><p>Clark nodded and swallowed visibly. “I see.”</p><p>“It kept leaking through the bottom, so I used two crusts. And I accidentally knocked some baking powder into the filling, so I added more sugar to try to drown it out.”</p><p>“Did you add it by the fistful?”</p><p>Bruce flushed. “If you don’t like it, you don’t need to eat it.” He reached for Clark’s plate, but the other man moved it out of reach.</p><p>“No, I’ll eat it. What did you want to talk to me about?”</p><p>Bruce locked eyes with the younger man. “You.”</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>Bruce hummed. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Clark jolted. “What?”</p><p>“I just...you seem like maybe you’re not alright. Clark -”</p><p>The younger man broke eye contact and shoved another bite of pie into his mouth before gagging and pressing a fist against his lips. Bruce was torn between concern and offence. </p><p>“Clark, if there’s something going on, something we can help with... lack of communication was where we erred last time.”</p><p>Clark didn’t say anything but truthfully Bruce wasn’t sure if he’d swallowed yet. Bruce tried again. “I know things are strained for you at the Daily Planet -” Clark looked up sharply at that “- and I don’t know if there’s anything I can say or offer or -”</p><p>“They look at me. Differently, I mean.” Clark interrupted in a rush. “I died and came back but now they look at me like I am dying. They look at me and I feel like I’m dying.”</p><p>Bruce needed more than that to work from. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean,” the younger man laughed and looked away, jabbing his fork into his pie and twisting it. “I mean that Perry used to tear me apart when I wanted to investigate the Gotham Bat because he didn’t think that urban legends about Gotham crime was news enough, but now if I pitch an idea he only argues sometimes, and even then I only have to push a little before he lets me have it, regardless of if he thinks it’s good or not. Like he’s being gentle with me. Before I died, Lois used to try to talk me out of pursuing leads because she knew they were good, and I might get a better scoop than she did, but it was always in a joking rivalry kind of way. Now she tries to talk me out of it and it’s like she’s not sure if I’ll be able to handle the stress or intensity or something. Like she’s trying to protect me. It’s like they look at me and see a ticking clock, winding down instead of carrying on, and I feel…lost. Like they’re getting ready to leave me behind.” Clark shook his head.</p><p>“They’re just processing. It’ll pass. You’re safe now, but they did grieve you. It makes sense that they’re a little careful right now.”</p><p>Clark looked back to him. “You treat me differently now too.”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re dying, Clark.”</p><p>“Did you grieve me?”</p><p>The answer burst from him; honest and without his complete consent. “Yes. But that’s not why my behaviour changed. I’m not grieving you.”</p><p>“Then what are you doing?”</p><p>Bruce hesitated and thought back to their conversation in the hall. “Being friendly?”</p><p>Clark smiled hesitantly like he’d taken something more from his words. Bruce wasn’t sure what it was, but wondered if it might still be a message that he wanted to send. Bruce reached for Clark’s plate again and this time the other man didn’t stop him. “I’m sorry that the pie was bad.”</p><p>Clark shook his head. “I liked it.”</p><p>Bruce raised a brow and stood up to throw out both of their pieces. </p><p>Clark raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. “Alright, I didn’t like the pie. Bu I <i>did</i> really like that you made it for me. I hope you do it again.”</p><p>“Second time’s the charm?” Bruce couldn’t help the small smile that curled his lips and he turned away to hide it.</p><p>Clark laughed. “Something like that.”</p><p>***</p><p>After that, Clark started to warm up to the team again. It was slow, as slow as it had taken him to withdraw, but he was getting there. Even though there were still bad days. Even though sometimes the bad days seemed to snowball into each other to turn into bad weeks. Unfortunately, they were in one of those bad weeks now. Bruce and the others had spoken to try and figure out what had gone wrong. As far as Bruce and Alfred could uncover, the situation at the Daily Planet had been steadily improving. Bruce had called Mrs. Kent to ask if Clark had said anything, but their conversation had derailed completely when she mentioned that Clark had told her about the apple pie failure, though she’d used kinder words. He’d hung up without managing to get around to his point at all and had been too mortified to try again. Alfred had refused to do it for him, so that avenue was completely inaccessible to them. </p><p>But the others thought that maybe it had been due to something that had happened while Superman was acting alone. He had responded to three natural disasters in the time frame they guesstimated after all. Barry and Diana had tried to get Clark to talk, but they’d either picked bad times or gone about it terribly because it hadn’t panned out. Bruce was concerned that they might not be able to help him, but he also remembered being able to make the younger man smile. And Clark <i>had</i> asked Bruce to bake for him again. </p><p>Bruce waited for Diana to adjourn their meeting, and then for everyone to start readying themselves to leave. “Clark.”</p><p>The younger man turned curiously but then before Bruce could say anything, he grinned. “Pie?”</p><p>Bruce cleared his throat and nodded.</p><p>“Is this more disgusting mango pie?” Barry came forward excitedly.</p><p>Bruce scowled at him. “No.”</p><p>Clark looked at Barry. “How did you even know about that?”</p><p>Barry shrugged. “You guys both went into the kitchen after Bruce said he had something for you, then when I went in after you left, there was a pie on the counter with either two regular sized pieces or one gigantic sized piece missing. No one else was there, so I ate the rest.”</p><p>Clark raised his brows and sounded genuinely impressed. “You ate the pie?”</p><p>Bruce turned his scowl onto him while Barry answered. “Oh, I threw it up immediately; it was very terrible. But the whole thing did go into my mouth, so I think it counts.”</p><p>“It’s a different pie.” Bruce tried to end this conversation before it really got going.</p><p>Barry laughed. “Okay. If there’s more after you guys are done, don’t throw it out. I wanna know how bad it is.”</p><p>Clark laughed. “It’s a deal.”</p><p>Bruce watched Clark laugh, and then looked around to see that the others were trying to subtly do the same thing. He was reminded that he wasn’t the only one bothered by Clark’s sadness and floundering for a way to combat it. Suddenly, he felt a little less nervous.</p><p>“We will speak to you later. At the next meeting, if not before.” Bruce nodded to them and headed off to the kitchen, Clark coming up beside him.</p><p>Clark glanced over his shoulder. “They’re a good group. I’m glad we’re all getting the chance to work together.”</p><p>Bruce thought back over all the trials and hardships that being a part of the team had brought. How frustrating and confusing and inane it could be. And how despite all that, he had never once felt completely alone or fully against any of them. “Yeah. They are. This team is really going to be something.”</p><p>When they reached the kitchen, Clark went immediately to get the plates and utensils and Bruce went to get the carrying container that was left in the fridge this time. “I deviated from the apple pie. I went with lemon meringue this time.”</p><p>Clark smiled as he sat down. “Ambitious.”</p><p>Bruce tilted his head as he joined the other man. “Is it?”</p><p>Clark hesitated. “I...don’t know.”</p><p>Bruce frowned, but let Clark take the knife this time. Clark inhaled again before he did anything. Bruce held his breath but Clark only winked at him. “Smells like lemon. So that’s a great start.”</p><p>Clark took the lid off the container and frowned. “Did you not do the meringue part?”</p><p>Bruce’s brow furrowed. “Of course I did. It’s in the name and you made it clear that names of pies are descriptive and not categorical.”</p><p>Clark looked at the dry crust on top of the pie and said. “The meringue that goes on top?”</p><p>Bruce frowned. “Yes. There’s the lemon, the meringue, and then the crust.”</p><p>“Oh. I don’t think lemon meringue pies are meant to have a top crust.”</p><p>Bruce hummed thoughtfully.</p><p>“Did the recipe mention a top crust?”</p><p>“No, but I thought they left it out because it’s inclusion was obvious.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s usually how recipes work.”</p><p>Bruce hummed again and Clark cut two pieces and lifted them onto plates, looking vaguely bewildered. “Bruce.”</p><p>Bruce’s shoulders tightened, but instead of feeling trepidation as he expected, he found himself...amused, and maybe a little eager. “Yes?”</p><p>“Is this -” Clark cut himself off because he was laughing too hard. He calmed down and took a breath.“Did you just fill the pie shell with lemon segments?”</p><p>Bruce couldn’t stop his grin if he tried. And he didn’t want to try. “The recipe had two parts. One with instructions for the lemon and one for the meringue.”</p><p>“And you just flagrantly ignored the lemon part?”</p><p>“I know how to peel a lemon, Clark. I didn’t need those instructions. And as you can see, I put the meringue on top, and then the top crust over it all.”</p><p>“You don’t use lemons in a lemon meringue pie, you just use lemon juice.” Clark wiped at his eyes, which Bruce thought might be a little overkill.</p><p>“That’s what a lemon <i>is</i>.”</p><p>Clark pressed a hand to his stomach as he tipped his head back and laughed fully. Bruce chuckled and watched him. The broad line of his shoulders, the ease with which he lounged in the chair. Clark, Bruce had discovered, had a nice laugh and he liked to hear it. Clark settled back down before long and leaned back over the table. He picked up his fork, took a fortifying breath, and took a bite. His face screwed up immediately and he swallowed the pie without much chewing. “Oh my god, Bruce!”</p><p>Bruce chuckled into his hand. “I did my best.”</p><p>“Of that I have no doubt. But I notice that you haven’t tried it yet. And that you didn’t try the other one, either.”</p><p>“Of course. I made them for you.”</p><p>Clark narrowed his eyes, a smile still playing on his mouth. “Coward.”</p><p>Bruce returned the look primly. “Gracious.”</p><p>Clark raised his brows and leaned forward even further. “Oh? Well in appreciation for your graciousness, I selflessly offer you a piece. And hope that you can enjoy it as much as I did.”</p><p>Bruce found himself leaning in as well. He thought of refusing again, which only brought to mind the thought of Clark taking the fork to insist on feeding it to him. Bruce flushed lightly. “In the spirit of appreciation, I suppose I will have to accept.”</p><p>Bruce felt Clark watching him as he cut a piece off with his fork. He looked up and their gazes locked as Bruce raised the bite and brought it into his mouth, lips closing around the tines. Bruce had only the briefest of moments to register slight the dilation of Clark’s pupils before the taste of the pie registered. It was <i>awful</i>. He managed to keep from making the same face that Clark had, but it was a near thing. A mouthful of sour lemon, with more exploding across his tongue as the segments burst between his teeth. He swallowed as quickly as he was able, if only to stop himself from spitting it out. He shuddered as the taste remained. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them to see Clark smiling at him. He traced the curve of the other man’s mouth with his eyes and wondered how it would feel beneath his thumb. He wondered if the taste of the pie might be sweeter off Clark’s lips and then he fought another flush.</p><p>Clark trailed the back of one of his fingers against the side of Bruce’s hand on the table (when had their hands gotten so close?) and Bruce met his gaze again. “Are you worried about me again? Is that why you did this?”</p><p>Bruce nodded, noting that although the mood in the room had changed, some parts of the previous one still lingered. “Yes. Though, the others are worried too.”</p><p>“You don’t need to be. I’m alright. Things with everyone at the Planet have been getting better.” Clark huffed. “You were right. They just needed time.”</p><p>“And what about you?”</p><p>Clark cocked his head. “What about me?”</p><p>“Do you still need time? To get used to being back? To get used to what happened?”</p><p>“I...don’t know.”</p><p>Bruce was quiet and he waited to see if Clark would elaborate. He didn’t have to wait long.</p><p>Clark exhaled. “A week or so ago, I was responding to an earthquake. Everything was going as well as could be expected, but then one of the subway lines collapsed. I got most of the people out with the help of the emergency responders. But there was one car with just one person on it and the car had been crushed almost completely. She, miraculously, wasn’t badly hurt. There was just enough space where she was lying that other than a few bruises she was uninjured. But she had been running out of air fast. I got to her in time, but just barely. It didn’t even register to me until later.”</p><p>Bruce hummed. “What was it about her that bothered you so much?”</p><p>Clark shook his head. “It wasn’t her. It was the car. They way it collapsed so tight around her.”</p><p>“Claustrophobia?”</p><p>Clark’s lips pressed tightly and his eyes took on a distant look. “It was like a casket. It was like she was in a casket but she was still alive.”</p><p>Oh. “Do you...remember anything about being dead?”</p><p>Clark didn’t answer for a moment, but then he raised his brows and took a shaky breath as if it had taken a moment for Bruce’s question to register. “No, I don’t. But lately, things have been reminding me of death and of dying. Even small, innocuous things. It’s like I’m retroactively afraid of dying. How stupid is that?” He ran a hand through his hair.</p><p>Bruce tilted his head to catch Clark’s eye. “Not at all. When you died, it happened so fast. You didn’t have any time in the moment to actually process it. Now you do, so you are. Emotions aren’t as illogical as people try to make them out to be. You just have to give yourself time.”</p><p>Clark snorted. “Same as last time, huh?”</p><p>Bruce shrugged. “Yes. And maybe try to spend more time with the team. Even out of uniform. I’m sure we can think of a reason or two. Just try to be alone less.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Bruce nodded.</p><p>Clark looked up at him again. “Then that goes for you too.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean you can spend more time with us too. You can spend more time with me too. You don’t have to wait to have a reason to be concerned about me to do this, you know.”</p><p>Bruce swallowed. “Okay.”</p><p>Clark smiled and ran his finger along Bruce’s hand again. “Okay.”</p><p>***</p><p>Bruce didn't do anything immediately. For one thing, he'd never been in anything even remotely like this. Were they in a relationship? Were they courting? What if, despite all evidence to the contrary, Clark was actually just being polite and only wanted to be friends? </p><p>But as time went on, Clark kept smiling at him across the meeting table and in the field. He found reasons to talk to Bruce walking to or from the Manor. He'd even stopped by the lake house once and formally met Alfred. Bruce had been in the cave at the time doing some maintenance but had remotely let him in, and when he'd come upstairs, Clark had been sitting on the couch and blushing wide-eyed at his knees and Alfred had looked self-satisfied. Neither would tell him what had transpired, though he'd tried to get it out of both of them more than once. And even their arguments had begun to find ways of turning into banter, though there were a couple of unfortunately memorable instances of them getting more and more entrenched in their points until they were shouting at each other and Diana had gotten between them and forced them out of the Manor to go cool off in separate directions.</p><p>Despite all that, they'd never progressed to a more intimate or definite status. Clark kept showing interest and he kept returning it, but Clark never pressed for anything more. It was something that Bruce had noticed; Clark always offered an invitation and then waited for Bruce to be ready to accept. And now...now Bruce might be ready to accept.</p><p>Clark had taken to consistently sitting beside Bruce in their meetings a few weeks ago, so as their current meeting wrapped up Bruce reached over to touch his elbow.</p><p>Clark met his eyes and smiled in the way that always seemed to emanate warmth. "Pie?"</p><p>Bruce opened his mouth but was cut off.</p><p>"Is this more pie? Please be pumpkin or something this time. Or, oh! Meat! Is it a meat pie?" Barry looked too excited.</p><p>Bruce glanced at him. "It's not a meat pie."</p><p>Barry still looked expectant, though, and movement in the corner of his eye had him looking back at Clark. The younger man looked briefly at the others, then raised a brow. Somehow, Bruce was reminded of their last conversation and their mutual agreement to spend more time with the rest of the team as well as each other. Bruce considered it. If he and Clark moved forward, wouldn't the team, to some extent at least, be a part of it? Clark seemed to read his answer on his face and looked at Barry. "Why don't you come and see?"</p><p>Barry looked surprised, and then gleeful. A moment, and then they all stood up more or less together and headed for the kitchen. There was a pile of dishes in the sink and Barry looked a little guilty. "Sorry, guys. This is on me. I'll have them ready in a sec."</p><p>Clark clapped a hand on his shoulder. "After. There's enough forks for everyone, and we can just put the pieces on paper towel." He turned a teasing grin on Bruce. "Unless this pie is prone to leaking or something?"</p><p>"It's not pie this time."</p><p>Clark raised his brows. "Oh?"</p><p>Bruce shrugged a shoulder. "Alfred said that cake might be easier to make. So I tried it."</p><p>Diana smiled warmly. "I'm sure it will be a wonderful experience."</p><p>Bruce narrowed his eyes at her, noting that she didn't necessarily support the possibility that it might taste good.</p><p>But the others were settling around the table; there weren't enough chairs for everyone, but Clark was standing over the table, so Bruce grabbed a knife and joined him. The others had taken the four seats that were there. </p><p>Bruce passed the knife to Clark and responded to Arthur's smirk with a flat expression.</p><p>Clark presses the knife to the cake with a light scraping sound and then nothing happened. Clark frowned and suddenly the knife bent. He looked up at Bruce with what might have been awe.</p><p>Bruce stared at the knife. "Is that bad?"</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce could see Victor press a fist to his mouth. There was no mistaking Arthur's loud laughter.</p><p>Bruce looked back at Clark. "Perhaps the nickel percentage in the knife is subpar."</p><p>Clark bit his lip. "I don't think the nickel would have saved it, Bruce. Sorry."</p><p>Barry's face fell. "So no terrible cake?"</p><p>Arthur turned to Diana. "Maybe if he used your sword it would be enough."</p><p>Bruce scowled and Diana shook her head, though she looked thoughtful. "It would be disrespectful to the blade."</p><p>Victor snorted and muttered under his breath. Barry barked a laugh and glanced over at him, nodding.</p><p>Arthur clapped and stood up. "Well, I have no such hang ups. Be right back." </p><p>He left the room and Clark walked over to Bruce, knocking their shoulders together gently. "A cake as impenetrable as the Batcave, huh?"</p><p>Bruce rolled his eyes. "I put it in the oven for as long as it said, but when I took it out it still looked soft and possibly damp, so I put it back in."</p><p>Clark snorted. "Cakes are supposed to be soft, Bruce. And unless it was actually still liquid, it was probably fine. Moist cakes are good cakes."</p><p>Bruce grunted. That was true he supposed. "So almost a good cake. We're getting closer."</p><p>Clark caught his eye and his voice softened. "Yeah, we are."</p><p>Bruce's heart rate leapt before he got it under control and he could see Clark's eyes flicker down to his chest. This close, he could smell Clark's aftershave, could feel the warmth from his arm spreading into him. Bruce swallowed and opened his mouth -</p><p>"Try this." Arthur walked back into the room carrying his trident and Bruce fought the urge to spring away. He felt Clark stiffen as if he had the same reaction. "Cut it on the table; you might need the room."</p><p>Bruce looked at the table as Clark grabbed the cake and saw that everyone seated was pointedly not looking at them. Clark lifted the weapon and rested it on the cake like he was dubbing it a knight. Then there was a slight cracking sound as he pressed down.</p><p>"That better have been the cake." Arthur raised a mocking brow at him and Bruce gave him a harassed look. </p><p>Clark was able to cut the cake into vaguely similar sized pieces, which was impressive given the weapon he wielded and the foe he faced.</p><p>Everyone grabbed a fork and tried to dig in.</p><p>"This isn't bad actually." Barry said, looking impressed.</p><p>"It's like they come in their own little bowls." Diana praised him. It wasn't an unfair assessment. The bottom, sides and top of the cake were pretty thickly burned, but there was about a square inch and a half in the middle that was consumable.</p><p>“So,” Clark said. “Normally we talk a little over dessert, but I don’t think there was anything planned this time. Was there?”</p><p>Bruce shook his head.</p><p>“Is there anything anyone wants to get off their chest?” Clark looked around the faces at the table, a faint smile on his face.</p><p>Diana hummed. “Moving my belongings from Paris to DC has hit a slight snag. Nothing serious, but it has caused a small delay and I will not be able to actually begin moving things in for an additional week.”</p><p>“Do you need a place to stay in the meantime?” Bruce offered. “If you don’t have anything in the DC house?”</p><p>Diana shook her head. “I have extended my booking in the hotel I am staying at. The museum is covering all of my moving expenses, so I will not suffer financially. Though if that changes, I may take you up on your offer.”</p><p>Bruce nodded. “It won’t expire.”</p><p>“My investigation to find my mom’s murderer ran out of leads again.” Barry sat hunched over. “It happens sometimes. Not a big deal.”</p><p>Clark stopped trying to scrape more cake out of the husk on his plate. “Did you want us to take a look?”</p><p>Barry blinked. “What?”</p><p>Clark shrugged. “Counting you, we’ve got three investigators and others with more skills besides that. I’m not saying we <i>will</i> find something, but I don’t think we’ll hurt your inquiry.”</p><p>Barry’s eyes widened, then he looked at the table. His hand blurred in front of his face for a second. “Yeah. Okay, thanks Clark. I’d really appreciate that.”</p><p>Arthur leaned back in his chair. “Don’t really have much to add. Shit with Atlantis is pretty much what it’s always been. I figure it’ll get easier as I get used to it and they get used to me, but for now it is what it is.”</p><p>Diana inclined her head. “You are a worthy ally and a respectable warrior. If there is anything I or Themyscira can do to aid you, you need only ask.”</p><p>He grinned at her. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine. I might go back up north for a few days or so. Get my head together. I won’t be unreachable to you or them in an emergency, but it might be enough.”</p><p>The table grew quiet. Then Victor spoke quietly. “I’ve been thinking about going back to college.”</p><p>“Really? Vic, that’s great.” Clark grinned at him.</p><p>Victor shrugged. “It’s not for sure, and I haven’t decided if it would be as myself or if I would create a new identity for it. I know how to do that now.” He gestured to the wires and tech under the dome on the side of his head. “But either way, I’d do it online. I’m not..I’m not ready to do it in person yet.”</p><p>Diana smiled encouragingly at him. “What would you study? The same subject as before?”</p><p>Victor shook his head. “I’m thinking I’m going to try for medicine. With what we do it’ll be important. And I think that being able to use what I am now for something concretely good like specific medical advancements would be helpful.”</p><p>“Sounds worthwhile.” Arthur nodded to him. “You were at Gotham University before, right? Are you going to want to go back or try somewhere else?”</p><p>“Probably somewhere else. Gotham pride and all,” Victor smirked at Bruce, “but I think it’s just too close for me right now. Even though it wouldn’t be in person, knowing that my name is up all around the campus for things I can’t do anymore is just too much. And after how it was all tied up in so much of what happened with my dad...I’m thinking of applying at Star City University. They have a pretty good program on it’s own plus their program partners with the STAR Labs Los Angeles site, where they study genetics and disease control.”</p><p>Bruce nodded. “SCU is a pretty good university. Jason -” His entire body tensed and his mind blanked. He could feel as the entire room froze, everyone holding their breath as they waited to see if he would share the kind of information he never voluntarily did. He had to swallow a few times before his mouth would work, eyes closed tight. He took a breath and looked at Victor again. “Jason was really interested in their restoration program. He...always liked literature a lot more than art, but he was fascinated with the process and intent involved in restoration. I have some information on the school and some names to contact if...if you are interested.”</p><p>Victor swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, Bruce, that would be really great. Thank you.”</p><p>Bruce nodded back. Clark pressed tightly against his side and Bruce found himself leaning back against him. Bruce waited for the hurt to pass and the conversation moved on while he did. It meandered and double backed on itself, sometimes dipping into silence for a time. All of them stayed much later than they usually did. Later than any of them probably ever had except in emergencies and maybe even then. Bruce looked around at the people sitting and standing around a too small table in a too big house and felt his lips curl just a little. All these people who fought and worked with and beside him had reached out parts of themselves to him and to each other. And for the first time in such a long, lonely while, Bruce reached back. </p><p>When he turned his head and Clark caught his gaze, Bruce looked steadily back and did not close his eyes until the other man’s lips met his softly.</p>
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